turning season

changing one thing into anotherclosing a season of fervor and life swirlingthe green is tired

a flash of lightamber hues peek through

a flash of lightquilt of yellow draping root

a drop of waterthe smell of earthen hues

dust bellows up in the windand into this news wraps feelingsthese questions of what changes will come

travelers take leavethoughts bellowing up in the windand in reviews wrap feelingsquestions of what was, what will, or what should be past, present, future

smoke dancing in a handred dust in scratchy, squinting eyesif there was no form to graspwas what lost ever had?

bitter valley of winterfrost covered touches where once warmth sprangslowed to a halt, a wanderer sat quietly in a caveknowing the bottom is a fine place to starteven the coldest hell is home to Buddhas

and no realm is ever home for long

a still puddle lies in reflectionwhat change has already wroughtinto this life or the nextchapters turn and turnexistence churn; a burning danceyet no motion is discerned in reflecting water